


Empty

by osgoods_tardis



Category: Doctor Who
Genre: F/F, a warning, but we know its not gonna go this way, i wrote this before the promos of yaz asleep in the tardis i know its not accurate, its how we want it, mental health is covered a lot, pls dont hate me ive never really written before and im scared, rated mature because its kinda heavy and implies some stuff, thasmin
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-01
Updated: 2021-01-01
Packaged: 2021-03-11 06:20:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,593
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28466697
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/osgoods_tardis/pseuds/osgoods_tardis
Summary: Yaz regains some hope, because she needs to.
Relationships: Thirteenth Doctor/Yasmin Khan
Comments: 6
Kudos: 18





	Empty

**Author's Note:**

> sorry if it's shite :/ pls let me know what you think?

Empty. 

That’s what she felt. Completely and utterly hollow. She hadn’t exactly been stable before, but this had knocked of six. No. more like twenty. 

She didn’t sleep, she didn’t want to. Why would she sleep whilst they slept forever. She would only have nightmares anyway, of glances back from deep eyes and wavering voices. Even worse was when exhaustion took her and she didn’t have nightmares, but happy dreams. Memories, re-lived and calm. Distant lands but even more distant gazes. Ethereal, beautiful, inaccessible. The happy times, until they were clouded over with the loss. The light would darken, and the expressions would change. Morphed into the last one, the worst one, so that the memory was gone. Tainted with the bad so it no longer felt like home. 

She has no-one. Nothing left. Unable to explain what happened to her family, she pretends like nothing's changed, painting on a face of normality. She was good at that; it came from practice. An unfortunate skill she’d gained from her time in school, when allowing people to see she wasn’t ok would only make things worse. The only time she could let her guard down was with Graham and Ryan, and even then, she made it seem as though she wasn’t as utterly broken as she truly was. 

She knew she shouldn’t be working, but without it all she would be alone with her thoughts all day, and that wasn’t safe for her. She didn’t trust herself. Instead, she busied herself as much as possible. She took on extra shifts and stayed late almost every day, making a point of taking nightshifts because she wouldn’t sleep anyway. She knew her co-workers were worried about her, but she always seemed to pass her “overworking” off as eagerness to pass her probation, and this was partially true. She did want to become a fully-fledged constable, just for different reasons than before. She knew that she wouldn’t be stuck dealing with the same disputes and confrontations every day when she qualified. She would be able to push herself, vary her days and occupy her mind. Perhaps then it wouldn’t be haunted by that look, and the way she hadn't done more to stop her. 

After Yaz decided she had to do something about how completely and utterly numb she felt, she had started going to the gym a lot more than she used to. Pushing her limits. She would run a bit further, lift a bit heavier and exert herself more than she knew she should, but at least she felt something, and sometimes she would be tired enough to have a dreamless sleep, free of the torture of the past. She had started to box more recently, punching the bag to try and quell her anger. Anger at herself. With every swing she relived the moment and internally beat herself up as to why she’d let her go, why she hadn’t gone in her place. Why she hadn’t saved her. More often than not she found herself crying, but she gritted her teeth and pushed harder still, until the adrenalin took over and all she could feel was the ache in her hands, the one in her heart deafened by the pain. She wonders to herself if this is what she felt like, all the times when she’d put on a brave face, helping people and recklessly protecting them to keep going with the weight of her past. 

She gets up in the mornings, and she thinks of how she would find her in the library, asleep with a book open on her chest. She goes to work, and she thinks of the tinkering she would do. She goes to the gym, and she thinks about her dragging people to safety, how she was so much stronger than she seemed. She goes home, and she thinks of the TARDIS, left on the hilltop. She wondered how long it would sit there, waiting on its owner to return and fly away. 

Sometimes, late at night, she would wonder what she would’ve done differently throughout her time with her, if she’d known this was going to happen. Musing to herself if she would’ve comforted her more. If she would’ve helped her with her feelings. She wonders if she would’ve told her about her own, and what would’ve transpired if she had. She wonders if she ever felt the same. Sometimes there was a look in her eyes that made her wonder. Sometimes she caught her looking at her, but she was sure she had been caught doing it too. 

It was late. No, it was early. Yaz had been lying awake for hours and had yet to be claimed by exhaustion. Reaching for her phone to check the time, 02:37. Instead of putting her phone down she stares at the screen. Her lock screen specifically. She had made it a picture of her, so she would always be with her, even if she really wasn’t. Couldn’t. Looking at it she remembers when it was taken, on desolation, when things were still ok. When her feelings were still unknown to her. When she was alive. Emotions rising to form a lump in her throat she quickly turns it off and puts it down, opting to not have a breakdown that night, but as she goes to lie down again, she hears a tap at her window. 

“I really must be going mad,” she says quietly to herself, “this is the fifth floor.” she lies rolls over and lies still, until she hears it again, longer and louder this time as if impatient. With a sigh, she gets up to see if what’s going on, and almost screams when she sees a figure, obscured by the night. Her curtains sway, and she realises her window is open, which was definitely not how she left it. She quickly rids a pot of its contents and holds it aloft, as she edges her way to the wall. Holding her breath, she reaches for the curtains. Pausing to steady herself, a single tear rolls down her face. With a deep breath, she whips the curtain back. 

A hand pressed over her mouth. A muffled scream. The sound of an engine. The feeling of being lifted. Hushed, anguished tones. A London accent, no, two. The ground beneath her. Bright lights, a sudden contrast from the darkness. A shaking motion. An American accent, directed at her. 

“Yasmin. Yazmin? Yaz?” a pause. As if looking for directions. “Yaz?” she heard footsteps. “What’s the matter with her?” she notices this voice is harder, she presumes her captor to be male.  
“Well,” a softer tone, yet well spoken. “You did snatch her out of her window.”  
“Yeah... We did suggest a calmer approach.” another more refined voice. Women, she guesses. She contemplates what she will do, how she will get out of this. If only she was here. She feels the lump in her throat return, so forces herself to focus on the here and now. She needed to stay alert if she stood a chance of getting out of this. 

One of the women walks over. She prepairs herself. “Hey Yaz, you ok? Sorry about Jack, he got overexcited.” Her tone changes to critical with the last part. She muses if it was the jack she knew, then it hits her. The accent. She sits bolt upright, and looks around wildly, searching for him. 

“jack. Jack?” she rises and notices the other two on board. A blond beside her with a concerned expression, and a brunette, across to her right, in a jumper and glasses, looking behind her to her left. She turns and sees him, signature coat and all, the same as before. “jack, what th-” her voice breaking at the reminder of her. Seeing him like this, the same as in Gloucester, it brought a front of tears to her. A stark reminder that there was nothing to be done. Aggressively wiping her face and composing herself, she didn’t even notice the arm that had been put around her. “jack,” she sniffs, “what the hell is going on.” finding resolve in herself, she addresses what she believes to be his intent. 

“if you are looking for her, then stop.” she makes eye contact, “you won’t find her.” if she hadn't been so focused, she would’ve seen the glances shared between the 3 people. “there was a decision that had to be made, and she chose to save us. She-” she finds herself choking up as she tells him. “she sacrificed herself, to save the universe.”  
Jack looks at her, and smiles. She wonders how he could do that, with what she’d just told him. She doesn’t think she’s had a genuine smile, untainted by loss, for a long time. “Yaz, this is Kate,” he indicates the blond woman to her left, “and Osgood.” he motions to the woman with her arm around her. 

“We used to work at unit, until it went underground.” she explains. Yaz remembers something about unit, from the new year, well one of them.  
“Jack came to us for help,” Kate continues, “Help to save her.” Yaz looks back to Jack, confused and conflicted. Surely she couldn’t mean her?  
“Yaz, we have a plan, but we need your help. She's alive, Yaz. Imprisoned, but alive. We need your help to save her.” 

Yaz almost loses it as she hears his words. Her heart feels warm and she feels full, the emptiness gone. 

“We need your help to save The Doctor.”


End file.
